


Anonymous

by starrystarrytrouble



Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Bars and Pubs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Deepthroating, Drunk Sex, F/M, Fingerfucking, Mutual Masturbation, One Night Stands, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrystarrytrouble/pseuds/starrystarrytrouble
Summary: For one night, he's not Dr Ethan Ramsey.
Relationships: Ethan Ramsey/Main Character (Open Heart), Ethan Ramsey/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Anonymous

For one night, he is not Dr Ethan Ramsey. 

He’s a man in a bar drinking scotch from the last millennium.

That’s the point of tonight. Go to a bar in the Back Bay where no-one will find him. Let go. Lose himself to alcohol and dim lighting.

All the things he needs to be a doctor: intellect, rational mind, focus, are abandoned with his white coat and ID badge.

No worries about mothers, mergers or mentees he can’t get off his mind.

He lifts the amber liquid, swirling it slowly in the glass, watching the way it glistens and he brings it to his lips and swallows hard.

A blonde woman sits down at the bar, and waves down the bartender, who pours two more and puts one of the tumblers down in front of him.

Dulled by the scotch, the surprise doesn’t hit as quickly as it should and instead of turning it down, he looks straight at her.

She’s beautiful.

That’s all his mind registers at first. And then, unable to stop himself, he takes her in. Her blonde hair is tied in a bouncy ponytail and bangs frame her face. But her eyes sparkle like nothing he’s seen. And they’re green.

He thinks of Eve Valentine, again, even though he’s not supposed to, dark hair and her green eyes a permanent fixture in his mind.

He looks back to the woman and he’s wrong. Her eyes are a different kind of green, so dark they are almost hazel in the bar lighting. And she’s still looking at him.

“You look like you could use a friend.”

Her voice is low and sultry but there’s something warm and daring in her smile, and he feels his control slip an inch.

“What makes you say that?”

The question is less terse than he intends.

“Attractive man drinking alone on a weeknight. Weight of the world on his shoulders. Sound familiar?”

She flashes a satisfied smile at him, the slightest tug at her lower lip.

“I could say the same about you. Attractive woman drinking scotch in a bar, presumably on your own?”

The words tumble out with his signature confidence. The air between them crackles when he realises what he’s said and she brings her glass up to his.

“Cheers to that.”

Her eyes are fixed on his and the slight clink of glass touching reverberates through each of his fingers. It’s the closest they’ve got to touching but it feels intimate, personal, closer than he’s been to a stranger in so long, that he forces the liquor down in one.

“So what’s your name?”

She tucks lose strands of golden hair behind her ear and looks up at him through her lashes. The obvious answer eludes him and he remembers why he’s here. To forget nothing less than everything.

“Jonah.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jonah.”

She extends a wrist and he looks at the slender hand and long red nails.

For a second he wonders what it would be like to feel her nails on his back. The thought comes out of nowhere, so instant and unwelcome, he tries to remove it immediately. But he fails.

He takes the hand in his, soft like velvet against his own rough fingers and shakes it lightly, but they don’t break apart.

“And who am I meeting?” he hears himself ask.

“Whoever you want to be meeting.”

The room blurs.

He freezes, the gravity of the situation suddenly churning in the pit of his stomach and he wonders if she’s going to ask him for money, what he’ll say, how he’ll handle this now he’s even more out of his depth.

She notices, letting go of his hand with a small laugh.

“I heard that line in a movie once. It doesn’t really work in real life does it? I’m Anna.”

He exhales and takes another sip of scotch.

“So what do you do? I’m guessing a man who drinks on a weeknight has a stressful job.”

Detective floats through his head first. It’s what he’s always wanted to be but it seems too sentimental. The second thought is doctor which is useless. He settles on something mundane.

“I’m a lawyer.”

She’s looking at him curiously now, almost sceptical, as if she sees through him but she doesn’t challenge it.

“Explains a lot.”

He says nothing, looks ahead and drains his glass.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

The question rattles him and he looks at her blankly, barely registering the surroundings, fixed on the fullness of her lips painted in an obscene shade of red.

“The bar’s closing? We could get a nightcap, you can tell me what type of lawyer you are and what’s on your mind. If you want.”

The other customers are already milling out.

“Right, of course.”

The cold Boston air hits him in the face with a hard slap the minute he steps out the bar. He walks towards the parking lot following every click of her emerald heels.

“Anna?” he hears himself say.

She swivels around and looks up at him through long lashes, her eyes the bewitching mixture of green and hazel in the darkness.

He wants to call her a cab. Tell her they just met. He doesn’t do things like this. He’s never done something like this. Now is not the time to start.

Then he remembers the one thing he’s trying so hard to forget.

The last conversation he had with Eve.

He makes a split-second decision.

“My apartment’s across the road. We could go there if you like.”

The fear that he sounds like a creep tenses him but Anna doesn’t mind, she nods with a sultry look, her red lips curving into the most wicked smile.

It’s not too late to change his mind, instinct tells him, he can fix this if he wants. He’s sure there’s still a way out, if he calls Eve right now, she’ll stop this. The indecision is maddening and he wants to forget it all and run.

But then Anna turns to him and moves closer, reaching up to place a soft kiss on his cheek. The warmth of her lips against the cold night is intoxicating but he doesn’t respond.

“Lead the way,” she says.

And that’s when he remembers.

He’s not Ethan Ramsey tonight.

#  
  


He doesn’t regret it, not yet. He’ll save that for the morning he promises himself.

Anna is as engaging as she is beautiful, so easy to talk to that by the time they reach his apartment, he feels relaxed for the first time all day.

Rattling the keys, he finds himself as controlled as always even though he’s nervous, his heartrate soaring in anticipation of the night ahead.

He slots the key into the lock and at that moment she puts a hand on his arm.

Before he can focus, she moves closer and her perfume washes over him, an unfamiliar scent, rich and floral like roses, and he doesn’t resist when she presses her body against his, her chest against his arm, he holds his breath for a second as her lips move over his.

The kiss is soft at first but becomes urgent, her tongue moving against him, pulling him closer until they break apart.

She stays close.

He furrows his brow, too drunk to make any rational decisions, delirious on the plump lips he’s just had between his teeth. But she senses his hesitation and puts a warm palm to his face.

“You’re not single are you?” Her voice is tender, understanding.

“It’s… complicated.”

He thinks back to Eve but washes her face from his mind.

This is his chance to pull out. The very last. Delivered to him on a plate.

But the same fates that have lit up the exit signs for him have also offered the luscious red lips that utter the next sentence.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

He’s intoxicated.

By her and the night and the impropriety of it all. And in this moment, he knows that it’s not that he can’t turn back, it’s that he won’t.

He slides the door open in invitation but before they’re inside they’re already entangled, her legs around his waist, and her fingers clawing at his shirt.

He carries her into the bedroom and places her down on the bed gently, their mouths still joined and her tongue in his. Trailing his lips down her neck, he moves down her collarbone and peels her bra strap down her shoulder but she pushes him off hard with a flick of her wrist.

He’s momentarily frozen, sure he hasn’t misread her intentions but one look at the sinful look on her face and he has his answer.

She kneels on the bed, her nipples taunting him through the translucent lace and he wants to reach down and run his tongue over them but if the dark magic she’s weaving isn’t already enough, she shakes her head with that same devilish smile.

“Stay still.” She whispers the words and he obeys compliantly, his heartbeat increasing with every passing moment that she doesn’t move.

She unclips her bun and runs a hand through her blonde locks which stream over her shoulders in waves.

Next she slides her bra down, strap by strap, unhooking the back and throwing it aside. A guttural groan is all he can offer at the sight of her full breasts, as he imagines running his mouth over them.

Eyes still fixed on him, she gives another smile, but there’s nothing warm left in her expression. She moves to his waist, unclips his belt and pulls down his pants, freeing him.

His cock twitches when she gasps at the sight of him.

He’s rock hard, aching for her to make a move, and he resents any earlier thought he had of refusing her.

The moment she takes him in one hand, he groans.

If he’s going to make a mistake tonight, he’s glad it’s her.

Her strokes are gentle at first then powerful, harder, all the way from the base to the tip and he tries to behave and stay perfectly still but his hips jerk with one fierce stroke and she pulls away with a smirk.

“Fine. If you can’t stay still, then…”

Eyes locked on him, she moves closer and he can’t help but tangle his fingers into her hair as she runs her tongue all the way up his length, and with the sultriest of smiles, takes him in her mouth.

She teases him at first, one hand moving below and the other cupping him while her tongue traces small circles over the tip. And then she speeds up, moving deeper, adjusting to his length until with a desperate moan he feels himself buried in her throat.

Instinctively he wants to please her first but the feeling of her bobbing up and down on him, while her moans vibrate around his cock is torturous.

He remembers that he’s not Ethan tonight.

He’s allowed to be selfish.

Fire in him reignites at the thought and he runs his hands over her hair. She must sense what he wants because she grabs his ass, forcing him to move against her and he thrusts into her mouth gently.

She moans loudly and he does it again and again, harder, his head tilted back, eyes shut, the groans escaping him uncontrollably loud.

Her moans match his and he looks down to see her hand lost between her own thighs, her fingers tracing herself desperately.

_Fuck._

About to lose control entirely, he eases her back, and revels in the cool breeze drifting in from the balcony allowing him to pull back from the edge.

But then he catches sight of her again. Her hand still buried in her lace thong, she lies back, eyes shut, fingers circling her clit while her moans echo around his bedroom.

He moves over her, his mouth finally finding her chest and he catches her nipple swirling his tongue around it. His hand eases hers away and he takes a second to enjoy how lusciously wet she is before he spreads her folds with his fingers and teases her with the tip of his cock, running it up and down from her clit to her centre until her hips buck against him desperately.

“Fuck me now.”

Her words are no more than a desperate whimper that mirror his own urgency. But before he can obey, she takes his hand and places her arms above her head. Taking the hint he pins her down and with one careful movement, fills her completely.

She clenches around him so quickly that a low groan escapes him, as he tries hard not to shout that she’s so fucking tight.

Swirling her hips around him as he thrusts into her, his steady rhythm builds faster and faster and he hears her moan louder.

“Harder.”

He obliges immediately, her tight grip on him intensifying as he feels her nails rake down his back and cut into his skin. The pain restrains him, takes him back down from the edge and he looks up at her, her eyes shut and mouth parted, ecstasy painted across her face. 

He’s so delirious his mind plays tricks on him.

All he sees is Eve.

He pictures her on his bed, her dark hair crowning the sheets and her gorgeous moans as she writhes beneath him.

The mental image is enough to send him soaring and he thrusts again and again, indulging the request, moving harder and faster until she screams out a name and tightens around him, his grip on her increasing as with a few final plunges he falls over the edge, pleasure coursing over him.

Before the sweat dries, shame hits.

He’s spent his whole life running away from his problems and tonight is no different. Pretending to be someone he’s not is a dangerous game.

He reminds himself that it’s okay to let off steam.

People do this every day.

It doesn’t mean anything. Tomorrow he’ll go back to his life. He’ll see Eve again at work, they’ll talk like normal and this will all be just a dream.

Eve.

The name he’s not supposed to think of tonight comes charging at him.

Anna flops back onto the bed and he realises he didn’t notice her get up. He hears himself tell her she should stay the night, knowing full well that she’ll comply.

Her golden hair is strewn over him and as he looks out the window he realises he’s never been with a blonde before.

Pearls of sleep line his eyes before he can figure out what that means.

#

When he wakes in the morning, Anna is gone.

All traces of her but the rose perfume which still soaks his pillow.

He rolls over to the bedside table looking for water, a headache pounding through him so intense, he feels it in his veins. Fumbling against the mahogany he finds a square of paper folded in half. He recognises it as his own stationary.

He unfurls the note, a kiss mark in cherry red lipstick where Anna’s pressed her mouth to the paper and above it words that make his heart pound:

_I’m keeping this ‘til I see you next._

Looking back to the table he realises what she’s kept. His watch is missing. It’s a $3,000 Rolex but he doesn’t care.

Memories of the night before course over him and he remembers the timbre of her voice when he made her scream.

And then his mind drifts to another set of green eyes. Eyes he needs to see to feel alive again.

It’s not Anna’s face that keeps coming back to him, it’s Eve.

He rubs his face and looks out onto the bright Boston skyline.

Just like that, he’s Ethan Ramsey again.

By the time he gets to work, it’s past 8am but he sips coffee and hides his hangover immaculately.

He’s at his desk when Baz and Eve walk in, headache still pounding.

She’s typically bright, smiling at him as she shuffles in to her usual spot at the table, ready for their morning meeting.

They’re talking about what they did last night and he fixes on the screen in front of him hard, trying to look as focused as possible so neither asks him.

Baz is saying something about a Marvel movie he went to see and now Eve is laughing at his joke about Iron Man.

The memory of nails digging into the tendons of his back blasts through Ethan and for a second he swears he can feel the imprints in his flesh.

What did you do, Eve? Baz’s voice breaks his reverie and he tries hard not to listen in but he can’t help it.

She says she went on a date with a lawyer. Baz lets out a low whistle, an almost cheer, that’s so endearing that Ethan can’t hold it against him.

How was it, Baz asks.

Kinda unexpected, in a good way, Eve says, her voice warm like sunshine.

He stops listening, the gist of the story firmly embedded in his mind.

And he pictures Anna again, her mouth swallowing him completely while he tangled his hands in her blonde hair.

The shame subsides to a small whisper.

After their meeting, Baz and June head out, leaving him with just Eve. She smiles and tells him that she has some files for him to check over. She says nothing else. Not one thing.

He wonders where the hell she learnt to be so professional with him.

Perfectly composed, she leaves the stack on his desk and clicks out in green heels, his eyes following her every step.

He turns to the desk, a pile of manila folders like he was expecting and something else Eve’s left for him on top of the stack.

His watch.

He smirks as he fingers the cold steel and slides it back over his wrist.

Under it he spots a note. The same square paper from his apartment, folded in half.

His muscles tense, a physical arousal that he tries to control mentally but his response is Pavlovian, conditioned to respond to the lipstick mark she’s left in cherry red on the inside.

And above the kiss, a sentence that induces a crooked smile:

 _Next time, you’re playing the blonde_. 


End file.
